Fortunately, at that precise moment, both men’s attention was claimed by Hercules’s investigation of one of the carcasses hanging up behind the counter; and by the time I had thwarted the dog’s ambition to consume a whole pig for his dinner, smacked him, scolded him — much to his outraged fury — and tucked him safely under one arm, Rose had her answer ready.
‘This is Master Chapman, Father. He’s a guest of our new master, Anthony Bellknapp.’
If she had expected to create a sensation, she was not disappointed. The news of Anthony’s return had not previously reached the city, and the reaction of everyone within earshot was most gratifying. The elder Bignell staggered back a pace or two and supported himself against the counter, the younger’s mouth fell open in amazement, the woman he had been in the process of serving screamed and dropped a basket containing half a dozen eggs, which shattered all over the cobbles, several other customers flatly refused to believe what they were hearing, while yet another went haring off around the marketplace, determined to be first with these wholly unexpected and unlooked-for tidings. Before she knew what was happening, Rose found herself at the centre of an eager and excited crowd clamouring for details; so, still clutching a highly indignant Hercules, I eased my way free of the ever-increasing throng — which I could see already included a number of beggars and pickpockets, intent on seizing this golden opportunity to relieve respectable citizens of their pouches and purses — and edged around to where Ronan Bignell was standing behind the counter. I touched him on the shoulder.
I had great difficulty in prising his attention away from his sister even after he became aware of my presence, but finally he demanded irritably, ‘What?’
‘I’d like to speak to you,’ I said apologetically, and was bracing myself for the furious refusal I could see hovering on the tip of his tongue, when he suddenly realized who I was.
‘You’re the man who came with Rose. You must be staying at Croxcombe Manor.’ He took hold of my arm and shook it excitedly. Hercules growled but was ignored. ‘You must know all about it.’
It was no use pretending not to know what ‘it’ referred to, so I admitted reluctantly, ‘I — er — yes. I suppose I know something.’
Seeing me as a source of private information which could lead to his being wiser than his neighbours, Ronan Bignell, keeping his grip on my free arm, propelled me out from behind the counter and away from the crowd in the direction of the cathedral. It was not until we were within sight of the Bishop’s palace, surrounded by its moat, that he paused and turned to face me. For a moment, I thought he might recognize me from childhood days, then realized that he was too young. I reckoned he couldn’t be much more than twenty or twenty-one, which left a gap of seven or eight years between us. He wouldn’t remember Roger Stonecarver, although there had to be others in Wells who could.
We sat down beside the moat while Hercules went off about his own business — I wasn’t worried: he would always return at my whistle — and I submitted to Ronan’s eager questioning. I had made up my mind during our short walk to be perfectly honest with him, so as soon as he fell silent, I told him the truth; my history, or such of it as was relevant, who and what I really was, how and for what reason I came to be at Croxcombe just at the time of Anthony Bellknapp’s return, the meeting with my previously unknown half-brother and his imprisonment on Dame Audrea’s charge that he was the missing murderer, John Jericho and, finally, my mission to clear his name. As a bonus, I also told him the little I knew of Anthony’s history, although I omitted the events of the previous night.
Ronan Bignell listened, fascinated, but when I’d finished, he asked, ‘Why, though, do you want to talk to me?’
I explained what Rose had told me and he groaned.
‘Women!’ he exclaimed bitterly. ‘You can’t trust ’em, not even your own sister.’ He shrugged resignedly. ‘But to do her justice, she’s never breathed a word to my father, and I don’t suppose she ever would. It’s true, a couple of my friends and I have always been fond of a bit of poaching. We just like the excitement, and the Croxcombe woods are full of rabbits and hares. Doesn’t do any harm to anyone that I can see. We’ve been doing it for years, ever since we were lads. I let Rob and Dick take whatever we snare. Their parents aren’t such law-abiding citizens as mine.’
‘And can you remember what you saw the night of Jenny Applegarth’s murder?’ I prompted him.
He puckered his lips thoughtfully. ‘Clearly. What happened after stamped it on my memory for ever. When we heard of the robbery, that poor Jenny Applegarth had been murdered and that the page was missing, along with a fair amount of the family’s valuables, well of course I remembered what I’d seen the night before.’
‘And that was?’
Ronan Bignell shifted uncomfortably. ‘Look, this is a secret,’ he said. ‘Neither Rob nor Dick nor I have ever told anyone. Well, I told Rose, which I can see now was a mistake, because I ought to have known that sooner or later she’d be bound to tell someone. Mind you, I suppose I can’t complain. She has managed to keep silent for six years — as far as I know, that is,’ he added with a sudden spurt of anxiety.
‘Surely if she had confided in anyone else,’ I soothed him, curbing my impatience, ‘someone or other would have said something to you by now. Six years ago, Mistress Micheldever was a child, and children, although they have long memories, are interested more in their own affairs. And in fact, she told me very little, merely that you thought you’d seen both John Jericho and another man abroad in the woods on the night of the murder.’
‘And how did I come to see them?’ he asked, answering his own question. ‘Because I was poaching. She told you that.’
‘Master Bignell,’ I said patiently (or as patiently as I could), ‘I don’t care about your poaching. It’s nothing to me and I certainly have no intention of disclosing the fact to anyone. I’ve been frank with you about what has brought me to Croxcombe, and I should be very grateful for equal frankness on your part.’
He was still reluctant. ‘I don’t see how it will prove that this man — this half-brother of yours — isn’t John Jericho. In fact, I can’t see it will be of any value to you at all, can you?’
I clenched my fists to stop myself from striking him and answered as reasonably as I could, ‘Maybe not. But I have no idea what might prove to be of value and what might not just at this moment, so I should appreciate an account of what you and your two friends saw on the night of the murder.’
He fought against telling me for another few seconds, then suddenly gave in.
‘I don’t know what hour of the night it was. Time didn’t worry me in those days. I’d discovered a way of getting in and out of my parents’ house without them being any the wiser. Sometimes, when it was summer, as it was then, I didn’t get home till dawn. But thinking back, it could have been around midnight. We’d had time enough to snare a couple of good fat rabbits and were on the trail of another, if I remember rightly, somewhere around Hangman’s Oak. Do you know the Croxcombe woods, Master Chapman?’ I shook my head and he went on, ‘There’s a sort of clearing there, where the trees thin out towards the edge of the woodland. A young fellow was staggering about, moaning and clutching his head, and then he was sick. One of us, I forget which, said, “He’s drunk,” and then Dick said, “It’s Dame Bellknapp’s page, that one with the funny name.” And I said, “John Jericho.” And the other two agreed.’
‘Did you go to his assistance?’ I asked, and was answered with an incredulous snort.
‘Of course we didn’t. We weren’t supposed to be there. Naturally, we didn’t know anything about the murder then, or we might’ve tried to apprehend him.’